


Scents (repost)

by literature_and_ocean_waves



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Original Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, charles and erik make good parents, i dont know where it went, i love family feels, part of my au, pietro having a speech impediment is so important to me!, representation for mutants with disabilties!, this is the re-post of the original fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:38:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literature_and_ocean_waves/pseuds/literature_and_ocean_waves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Erik had always, as far as he could tell, had a very strong sense of smell."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scents (repost)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is a re-post of a fic that I had up here. It is basically the same, but I have no idea what happened to the first one. It just vanished. Oh well. Here it is again.
> 
> 2\. The whole thing about Pietro having a speech impediment from his speedy power is not something that is new to the Marvel universe, but the idea of him wearing a monitor to help regulate all his words and movements is not mine. It belongs to the lovely creator of the "Marvel Little Heroes AU" on Tumblr. I take no credit for it and gladly give all to them.

Erik had always, as far as he could tell, had a very strong sense of smell. 

Not like Wolverine. 

Or Sabretooth. 

Nothing that allowed him to sniff out an enemy like a bloodhound or catch a scent from miles away.   
No. He was not that gifted. 

But his sense of smell was, undoubtedly, stronger than the average person’s. Mutant or otherwise. 

 

Hank had put in a theory on it once. 

“It’s your metal control.” He had said. “Your body is hard-wired to search for metal everywhere, using all of your senses. Even if you aren’t consciously thinking about it. So your nose is open to many more receptors than blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah smells blah blah blah blah blah…”

Erik had zoned out after that. 

But he had understood the gest of what Hank had been getting at. 

Mutation involving metal bending equals stronger senses, including smell. 

 

Erik is wandering through the mansion. Not really intent on going anywhere, but far from listless. Just kind of strolling, feeling content on a warm Tuesday evening. 

The smells of the house dance inside his nose. 

Janos’s delicious Caribbean dinner from earlier. 

The papery scent of hundreds of books in the library. 

The flowers from Moira’s garden that now decorate vases on every table. 

Rather comforting smells really. Home-like. 

 

But the most powerful scent, by far, is something else entirely. 

Erik’s… gift with smells, if one can even call it that, has a special trick to it. 

It pulls out a single scent from the rest. Perhaps the strongest scent. Or maybe one that Erik unconsciously connects to the most.

Regardless, his senses and his mind hold onto it. Committing it to memory. A lifeline that embodies everything Erik feels about one particular thing or place or person, wrapped up in a single scent. 

 

For the mansion, it is polished old wood. 

It is in every room, on every piece of furniture. 

A tickling, vaguely lemony smell that brought to mind the quiet joy of domesticity in a safe, clean house. 

Erik loves it. 

 

Things had not always been this way. 

When Erik had first arrived at this house, more than a decade ago, another smell had been the embodiment of the mansion. 

Dust. 

All cloying and suffocating and miserable and dead. 

“This place’s probably got ghosts!” Sean had said. And he was not wrong. 

There were certainly ghosts in that house. Ghosts of pain and neglect held in the hearts of people long past. An emotional residue that suck to the air inside the mansion like a thin mucus. 

It was no wonder that Charles had wanted to abandon the place and ran away to Oxford for so many years. 

 

Erik’s expression turns thoughtful as he walks. 

The dust is all gone now. Melted away. 

Cleaned off the wood with polish and leaving the house completely rejuvenated. 

It had taken a long time. Years of love and patience and an old mansion being reborn into a school for truly unique and special children. 

Where there had been fragile and expensive paintings from centuries back, there are charmingly simple crayon drawings of sunny days at the zoo. 

Where there used to be furniture so fancy and uncomfortable that no one can sit upon it, there are plush and comfy couches that are frequently flopped upon by overly enthusiastic youngsters. 

And where there had been silence so heavy that it might crush anyone it encounters, there is shouting and laughter and the sounds of silly cartoons. 

Speaking of which…

 

Erik follows the noise to one of the salons. The one dubbed by all the kids (and Sean) “The TV Room”. And perching upon the sofa, eyes glued to the screen, are children. 

His children, in fact. 

Wanda, Pietro, and Lorna. 

None of them look up when he comes in. Too preoccupied with the television or, in Wanda’s case, a book. 

“Hallo Kinder.” Erik says. 

“Hi, Papa.” They all say back. 

Erik stands next to the sofa, leaning casually on its arm. “What are we watching?” He asks. 

“101 Dalmatians.” Lorna says. She’s got her feet tucked up under herself, like she always does when she sits. 

“Ah.” Erik says. “It’s about puppies, I am guessing?” A family of dogs seems to be trying to discreetly board a truck. Though they are all covered in soot, for some reason. 

“Yeah!” Pietro cries, exuberant as ever. “The mean lady who really likes furs, Cruella De’vil, is trying to catch all the puppies so she can make a fur coat outta their skins!”

Erik wrinkles his nose in disgust. He rather likes dogs (apart from German shepherds) and the idea of someone wearing their hides is more than a little repulsive. 

“Yeesh. Gross.” He says and sits down on the couch. Pietro is sitting next to him, knitting, and the space is a little cramped with all four of them there. Lorna glares at her brother. 

“Move, Pietro.” She says, and then kicks him onto the floor with a thud. 

“Oof!” Pietro grunts, startled but otherwise unhurt. “Hey!”

Lorna just sticks her tongue out at him. Erik snorts with humor. 

There is an unspoken rule that when Erik is in a room with his offspring, Lorna gets first dibs on his attention. Usually by physically removing her siblings out of her way. 

She’s a Daddy’s Girl alright. Well Papa’s Girl. 

Charles is Daddy. Erik is Papa. 

Lorna climbs into Erik’s lap and he ruffles her bright green hair, watching the film. 

“What did you do today, Little Magnet?” He asks. 

“I worked with Angel and Ororo on my flying and then played hide-and-seek with Kurt.” She answers.

“Oh?” He asks, amused. “Who won?”

“Kurt.” She says, pouting. “He’s a big cheater.”

Erik laughs. “How do you possibly cheat at hide-and-seek?”

Lorna huffs, looking very much the picture of an adorably irritated seven year old. “Every time I went into the room where he was hiding, he would teleport away and I would have to go find him all over again. And I know he did it because I could see the poof poof smoke!”

“And that’s cheating?”

Lorna glares at him, very serious. “Of course it was! I couldn’t catch him!”

Erik grins, all sharp, happy shark teeth. “Maybe so. But what does Daddy and all your other teachers always say?”

Lorna rolls her big, emerald-colored eyes, reciting the familiar lesson. “That our powers are tools and we should always use them if they help us.”

“Good girl.” Erik says and pats her on the back affectionately. 

“Hmph.” She says. “I still say he’s a cheater.”

“Fair enough.” Erik concedes, still smiling. 

 

Lorna scoots closer and burrows into his chest. He throws a blanket over both of them and holds her close, inhaling her scent. 

His “Little Magnet” really lives up to her name. And not just because of her powers. 

She smells like metal. 

Sharp and strong and biting. 

Like iron that has been baking in the noonday summer sun. 

It was gorgeous. 

Erik rests his chin on top of her head, thinking. 

Despite the fact that he never, ever played favorites with his children (or any of the other students), he could not deny that the bond he shared with Lorna was particularly special. 

After all, it was not every day that he got to spend time with someone who shared his own powers. 

Most mutants loved their powers, even if they did not like the prejudice that came with them. They were something vital, a piece of themselves just like a talent or a skill or anything else critically essential to who they were as a person. 

Erik was no different. He adored his powers. And although he could understand how other mutants felt about their own powers, and they about his, it was not the same as sharing that power with another living soul. 

But Lorna? She understood everything. 

They sometimes would sit together, a father and daughter, alone and quiet, just feeling the metal in the world all around them. 

How it sang for them. 

Called for them. 

Made them feel so safe and warm and wonderful and truly, completely themselves. 

Nothing could ever compare to that. 

That was why his youngest child glued herself to him so often, even if she took up that pretense of just wanting to be possessive. 

They shared a lot in common, this tiny, delicate creature and he. They were both so proud and so fearless, sometimes to the point of recklessness. 

And with the metal singing for them, deep down in their very blood, they even smelled alike. 

 

The film looks like it is reaching its climax now. The crazy lady with weird hair is trying to run the truck full of dogs off the road. Erik thinks it a rather stupid plan. Because if the dogs are killed in such mangling kind of way, then the lady will never get her fur coat at all. But whatever. Disney logic. 

He peers down at Pietro, who has found a comfy spot on the floor and is frantically knitting away. He looks like he’s almost finished, fingers twisting the needles at high speeds while he continues to watch the movie. 

“Who’s the new scarf for, Pietro?” Erik asks conversationally. Pietro had taken up knitting a while ago to help curb his excess energy. It kept his hands busy so the rest of him could focus. Made scarfs and sweaters and hats for everybody in the house, and even donated some to charity. 

“Kitty.” Pietro replies. “She likes pink and requested I use a type of yarn with lots of fuzziness.”

“Did you finish the silver one for Hank yet?”

“Yeah! He really liked it!” Pietro looks up at Erik, proud. “I gave it to himafterIwenttorunningpractice!”

Erik pats him on the head. “Watch your speech patterns there, boychick…”

“Oops!” Pietro says, blushing a bit. “Sorry, Papa…”

“It’s okay.” Erik says. “Just check your monitor.”

“Yes, sir.” Pietro answers, before putting aside the nearly completed scarf to check the small band of brightly colored wires around his wrist. 

Erik smiles softly. Like many mutant children, Pietro’s powers sometimes have side effects. His natural speediness makes him want to do things at rates that do not mesh well with the people around him. Hence the twitching and occasional inability to regulate his speech. 

The monitor helps. It regulates his heart, speed, blood sugar, adrenaline levels, etc. And many times the whole school forgets about the boy’s condition. But when Pietro is already feeling overly stimulated, like now with a movie on, he needs to be more careful. Erik has no doubt that he will one day regulate these things on his own. But for the present, while he is still ten and goofy, he needs the extra help. 

Erik sighs contently. Pietro’s scent is like that of a crisp, clear autumn breeze. Refreshing and cool, it settles into Erik’s nose with comfortability. 

His son is a nice boy, albeit rather competitive, and well-liked by the other students. Sassy and creative and fun, he keeps the mansion on its metaphorical toes. The spitting image of Erik in appearance, but more like Charles in his enthusiasm. His stubbornness, however, comes from both of his parents. 

Pietro yawns and Erik gently pets his alabaster hair, relaxed. He does not always… click with his middle child. They are very different and there is a part of Erik that wonders if he is doing wrong by his only son with how little they understand each other. But then he remembers how different he had been from his own father, even if their time together had been cut so tragically short, and he feels less bad about the whole thing. 

The movie is almost over now. The dogs have all returned to their home and their humans are singing a funny little song. Something about Dalmatians and plantations. Erik has to admire the creativity. Dalmatians is a rather difficult word to rhyme. 

There comes the soft thump of a book being closed. Erik looks over at Wanda. 

“All finished, Princess?” He asks. Wanda shakes her head, fluffy brown locks bouncing as she does so. 

“Not yet.” She replies. “But I need to rest my eyes for a minute and I’ve hit a good stopping place for now.”

“Gotcha.”

Wanda sighs, sleepy, and leans into his hip. Erik wraps an arm around her shoulders. 

Wanda’s scent is… unique. Just like her. 

It’s like spices. 

Cinnamon and ginger and pepper. 

As particular and perfect as she is. 

Erik hugs her close and she smiles. 

Wanda is his eldest child. And possibly the most powerful mutant student in this house. 

Her powers are odd, somehow both mental and physical. At ten years old, she is already very nearly a master of both the mind and the body. Her classmates of the house often call her a witch and she wears the title with pride. 

Which sounds quite scary until one considers the sweetness of her nature. 

She’s a quiet little thing; a lover of books and music and trees. Her kindness always reminds Erik of Charles. As does her hair and face and eyes. She is, undoubtedly, very beautiful. 

Erik casually picks up Wanda’s book, reading the front cover. “The Outsiders” by S. E. Hinton, it says. The publication date coincides around the same time as the twins’ birth. 

“It’s really good.” Wanda says, blue eyes watching him. “Daddy says that it’s at the same level as what the big kids are reading. But I am understanding it just fine.”

“Really?” Erik says. “What is the plot?”

Wanda smiles brightly, always happy to talk about reading. “It’s set back in the 50s’ and is about these two rival gangs. One is Greasers and the other is rich kids. They are fighting over territory and which group is better and stuff.”

Erik chuckles. “You should rewrite the story using mutants and humans.” He says. 

Wanda frowns. “Maybe.” She says. “But that is probably illegal.”

“What is probably illegal?”

Erik looks up to find Charles standing in the doorway of the salon, clearly having just walked in. Wanda waves at him cheerily, and then points accusingly at Erik. “Papa wants me to rewrite a book.” She says. “But I am pretty sure that violates copyright laws.”

Charles laughs. “Does he now?” He says. “Well you tell Papa that rewriting books is indeed illegal.” 

“It’s not illegal if she doesn’t sell it!” Erik says, feigning an overplayed look of hurt. Charles rolls his eyes, just as dramatic. 

“Coercing my children into crime again, are we, Mr. Lehnsherr?” He asks, smirking playfully. “Shame on you.”

He sits down with them on the couch and Erik flashes him his most charming grin. “Nothing is criminal so long as you don’t get caught, Charles.” He says, cupping his chin between thumb and forefinger. 

Charles is grinning back at him now. “Mmmhmm~” He says, amused. “That’s what they all say.”

Erik just leans in and kisses him to prevent any further damage to Erik’s completely solid argument about criminality. Charles, it seems, is fine with this because he kisses him back. 

“Eeeew! No kissing!”

Erik turns away from his lover to instead look at his son, who is making the classic “grossed out” face. Complete with the, very necessary, sticking out tongue. Erik laughs at him. 

“Don’t judge, boy.” He says. “You might actually like kissing someone one day.”

Pietro’s only, and rather eloquent, response is simply “Bleck!”

“Suit yourself.” Erik responds, snickering. 

Charles smiles affectionately at the two of them before standing up. “Alright, children.” He says. “Bedtime.”

Wanda and Pietro get up with few complaints; it has been a long day and they are tired. Erik scoops up Lorna, her small, sleepy body resting comfortably on his shoulder. The group walks upstairs to the hallway that holds both the twins’ room and Lorna’s. Wanda and Pietro head off to the bathroom for teeth brushing and Erik carries Lorna to her own room. He sets her on her bed and digs around in her closet. 

“You want the green nightgown right, honey?” He asks. 

“Yep!” She answers, scrawny little legs swinging on the edge of the bed. “It’s my favorite!”

“Alright.” He says and finds it hanging up on the right side of the closet. He helps her change out of her dress and into the nightgown, before tucking her into her bed. Charles comes in and brushes her bangs away from her face, before kissing her on the forehead. She makes a face, but Charles ignores it calmly. This is a normal nightly behavior for the ever prickly Lorna Lehnsherr. 

“Good night, sweetie.” Charles says. 

“Good night, Daddy.” She says, curling up under the covers. Erik plants his own kiss on the crown of her head. 

“Gute Nacht, Kleiner Magnet.” He says, the familiar German flowing from his tongue. 

“Gute Nacht, Papa.” Lorna says, fluent as any native. 

Charles turns off the light, though is sure to check that her nightlight is working, and shuts the door behind himself and Erik. They walk down the hall, hand-in-hand, and reach the twins’ room. Pietro is already fast asleep, limbs sticking out haphazardly from under his bedsheets, and Wanda has once again buried her nose in her book. Erik attempts to straighten out the rats’ nest of Pietro’s blankets, while Charles goes over to Wanda, petting her hair. 

“Ten more minutes, love.” He says. “Then lights out. Deal?”

Wanda smiles and nods. “Yes, Daddy.” She says, before diving right back into the pages of S. E. Hinton. 

Charles kisses her cheek and Erik squeezes her hand, both wishing her good night, and then close the door. They stroll to their own room, several doors down, and begin getting ready for bed. Charles changes into his trademark pajamas. 

“I spoke with Logan earlier.” He says, conversationally. “Seems like he is finally coming around to doing some training sessions with Hank.”

Erik snorts. “Those two just need to fuck and get it over with.” He says, crassly. 

“Erik! Really?!” Charles shrieks, looking both scandalized and rather amused. “But you’re right. They do.” He grins evilly. “At least if their recent dreams have been anything to go by~”

Erik rolls his eyes, very proud. “Ha! Now who is being criminal, Charles?” He says. 

Charles giggles, sounding rather like Pietro. “What?” He says. “I can hardly help it if their dreams come waltzing into mine at 3 am like they own the place. Telepathy is a rather unfortunate curse sometimes.” His eyes light up with laughter. “And trust me, you don’t want to see any of the stuff that Hank had in mind… That is one kinky blue furball…”

Erik cackles happily. “Oh that’s fantastic!” He says. “Such a sweet boy on the outside, yet so naughty on the inside.” Erik winks lecherously at Charles. “Just like you, Professor Xavier~”

Charles turns beet red at the comment. “Yes, yes.” He says, flustered. “Thank you, Erik.” He climbs into bed and Erik joins him, still laughing on the inside. 

Erik wraps himself around Charles and nuzzles into the back of his neck, inhaling his smell. 

While Erik loves the individual scents of everyone in their big, crazy, makeshift family, Charles’s was the best. 

It has a lot of features. Sunshine, books, Scotch, cotton. 

But the most dominant smell by far is quilts. 

Warm, freshly washed quilts that have been dried in the afternoon sun and then placed on a nice, clean, comfy bed. 

It is beautiful and wonderful and it permeates the whole house. 

The house itself might smell of old polished wood, but the scent of quilts wraps around itself around it, just as present. 

Erik’s eyes grow soft.

Charles Xavier is this house. 

He is every door, every window, every corner that has had life breathed back into it. The Xavier mansion has always been a house, but, for the first time in a very long time, it has become a home. 

And every lost, lonely mutant child who walked through the front gate knows it. 

Charles, both himself and his influence, is a quilt. Beloved and safe and soft. 

Something familiar that the little mutants could cry into on the bad days and yet still joyfully tumble upon it on the good days.   
Charles was what the world of mutants has always needed. 

And Erik Lehnsherr, as a formally lost, lonely mutant child, is simply happy to have him. 

Which is why, as sleep starts to overtake him for the night, Erik whispers a gentle “I love you” into the shell of his ear. He does not know at first if Charles heard it, but it would not matter. 

He just likes being able to say it. 

Then he feels a warm pressure on his mind, like a cerebral hug, and Charles voice echoes throughout his head, clear as a bell and just as lovely. 

“I love you, too, Erik.”

 

The End.


End file.
